


Lately I've Been Craving More

by louissass



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, End game Larry, First Time, Implied Anal Sex, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Smut, everyone knows except louis, some great broments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-08 22:46:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3226307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louissass/pseuds/louissass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Harry finally looks up, a small smile gracing his lips as he makes eye contact for the first time since his confession. “It’s not a joke, boo, I do love you.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>And, well. Louis definitely wasn’t expecting that.</em>
</p>
<p>Or, Harry is in love with Louis, and Louis is definitely straight. Except maybe he isn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lately I've Been Craving More

**Author's Note:**

  * For [onedirectioninthetardis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/onedirectioninthetardis/gifts).



> Ahhhh!!
> 
> I'm so sorry that I never updated anything from Nov-Jan but honestly this took up pretty much all of my time because I wanted to get it perfect! I hope it was worth it!
> 
> My tumblr is [millionairelouis](http://millionairelouis.tumblr.com) if you wanna chat!

It’s a relatively normal Saturday night: Louis and Harry are chilling in their front room, watching Geordie Shore and passing a spliff back and forth. Louis seems to be taking more hits than Harry, but that’s hardly unusual. He’s not a _stoner_ or anything, but sometimes he likes to relax a little bit. And with the high pressure job they share, it’s easier to relax with a bit of... herbal help. Harry prefers yoga and zen stuff to de-stress, but Louis thinks that’s a waste of time.

It’s just- Harry’s really tense. (Louis thinks he tends to be more… _emotionally aware_ when he’s high, even though he’s pretty sure it should work the other way ‘round, but.) Harry’s never tense, not like this, not when they’re at home watching Geordie Shore and getting high. Not when there’s no pressure from tours or interviews or managers to act in a certain way– more specifically, act in a “less gay” way.

It literally doesn’t even matter to Louis or any of the other boys that Harry is gay, so Louis can’t understand why it would matter to anyone else– especially when it’s none of their business. It doesn’t make sense for Harry to have to be shoved into an uncomfortable closet which he _clearly_ doesn’t want to be in. But then, Louis has never really been that understanding when it comes to their managers. Old men in suits telling him he can’t live with his best friend because of “relationship rumours”, splitting him and his best friend up for interviews because they’re “too friendly”, telling his best friend he needs to get a girlfriend to stop speculations. Louis shudders whenever he thinks of Harry and Taylor. It was so uncomfortable and awkward for everyone involved. Louis hated it. He’s glad it’s over.

Harry holds the spliff out for Louis to take, but then Harry hesitates and bites his lip, staring at Louis with watery eyes.

Louis frowns and grabs the spliff. “What is wrong with you tonight? You’ve been acting weird ever since I got back.”

It’s true, because as soon as Louis had returned home from his date with Eleanor – which had been pretty amazing, actually, thanks for asking – Harry had been acting weird, all closed off and distant. He’d cooked Louis dinner as per usual, but it was in silence– an eerie silence, punctuated only by the rattle of pots and pans and the slamming of cabinet doors. It had made Louis want to cry and rip his hair out at the same time. He’d put the radio on instead, and of course, Taylor’s new song came on and Harry had all but cut his finger off with the knife he was holding. His shoulders were tense all the way through dinner and his eyebrows were bunched up in the middle of his forehead, forming what Louis calls Harry’s _Very Important Thinking Face_. It’s the expression he gets when he’s deep in serious thought, the kind you don’t want to interrupt. Louis had just left Harry to it, hoping he’d snap out of his weird mood, but now he’s sort of starting to regret that.

“Just got some stuff on my mind,” Harry shrugs, but there’s a certain glint in his eye and Louis knows he wants to be pushed, wants to answer properly, wants to open up.

“This is a safe place, dear Harold,” Louis mumbles, staring at the glowing end of the joint. It’s almost burnt out to a stump and Louis really doesn’t want all of it to go to waste, “No judgment here, you know that.”

Harry bites his lip, “So there’s this boy.” Louis almost rolls his eyes. There’s _always_ a boy. “Well, I say boy, he’s more of a man I guess, a real manly man, y’know? With like, big biceps and stubble and killer thighs and–”

“Alright, I get the point, he’s a man,” Louis says with a chuckle. He takes one last hit before leaning forward to stub out the spliff in the ashtray on the coffee table and pick up his cup of tea.

Harry clears his throat. “Yes, well. There’s a man. And… uhm, I sort of really like him?”

“Oh really?” Louis says with a raised eyebrow, using his special Harry-teasing voice in hopes of making him blush. Harry blushes. Louis takes a sip of his tea. “You like him, eh?”

“Well…” He mutters, clearing his throat again and looking down at his lap. It’s a nervous habit, Louis doesn’t mind. “Sort of… I love him, really,”

Louis grins, and a sort of uncomfortable feeling brews in his stomach but he pushes it way down deep. Plenty of time to sort out his own feelings, Harry’s are what’s important right now. “Do you now?”

“Yeah… I dunno, he’s just so perfect, y’know? I feel like we complement each other perfectly, like, he’s short while I’m tall, he’s curvy while I’m really skinny, he’s loud while I’m quiet, he’s funny while I’m, well, not funny, I guess,” he clears his throat again, peeking up at Louis through his eyelashes.

Louis just smirks and takes a larger gulp of his tea, “So when’s the wedding?” Harry blushes even more and ducks his head again. Louis laughs and pushes his feet under Harry’s thigh, “No but seriously, what’s the problem? If you like him why don’t you just tell him? What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Well I mean, there’s the fact that I’m actually not supposed to be gay, or– or  even in a relationship at all, for that matter,” Harry mumbles and Louis sighs. Sometimes he forgets it’s not quite as simple for Harry to be in a relationship as it is for himself. Harry fidgets, and then sighs. “So management would probably skin the both of us. I mean, it’s not like he doesn’t already know I swing that way, so I guess it wouldn’t be too bad.”

“I guess you could just get him to sign a nondisclosure agreement,” Louis muses. “I mean, I know it’s not ideal, but if you really love each other then it’s better than nothing, isn’t it?”

Harry clears his throat nervously.

Louis sighs, “What? What have you oh-so-conveniently left out of your little love confession?”

“Okay so… here’s the thing,” Harry mumbles. He’s fidgeting and stalling, and Louis knows from experience that Harry gets like that when he doesn’t really want to admit something. Louis bumps his knee into Harry’s arm to comfort him, vaguely aware of the soothing buzz of the telly in the background. Finally, Harry says, “He’s kind of in the closet.”

Louis frowns, “But he’s definitely gay?”

Harry nods, seemingly sure of himself for the first time since Louis got home, “Definitely.”

“So he told you he’s gay, but in the closet?”

“Well…” Harry bites his lip, “Not exactly, no.”

Louis splutters out a nervous laugh, “You can’t just assume he’s gay, Hazza!”

“But he’s hinted _so_ many times, like, he’s definitely gay,” Harry insists. Louis isn’t convinced. He doesn’t feel too much like pressing the matter further however, in case things get graphic. Louis is very squeamish when he’s high.

“Do you think he’s into you?” He asks instead.

Harry shrugs, suddenly looking very unsure again. “I mean, I hope so. He’s pretty much been my crush since forever, I’d be pretty heartbroken if he didn’t fancy me even a little bit.”

“Aw, I’m sure he does, babe. How could anyone not fancy this face?” Louis coos, pinching Harry’s cheeks. “So adorable.”

“Hey, I’m not adorable, I’m sexy,” Harry huffs, pushing Louis’ hand away. “I’m a sexy man.”

Louis caresses his cheek and coos again, “My cute little boy.”

“Stop it,” Harry pouts, pushing Louis away again. Louis just laughs, and finds himself admiring Harry’s slightly puffy lips, his dilated green eyes, his pink cheeks. Harry is really pretty sometimes. Not in a gay way though, Louis’ just saying.

“So are you gonna tell him you like him, or what?” Louis asks suddenly, snapping himself out of his daze and sipping at his tea again.

Harry mumbles something that Louis doesn’t quite catch, but he’s pretty sure it sounds something like _‘what do you think I’ve been trying to do?’_. Nonetheless, he frowns, and Harry gulps, shuffling a little bit closer to Louis on the sofa. Louis doesn’t mind.

“So, Louis,” Harry says slowly, twiddling his fingers, “Lou, Tommo, Boobear–”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Spit it out Harry, will you?”

“I’m in love with you,” Harry blurts, eyes going wide once he realises what he’s said. He blushes and ducks his head down, glaring at his knees, while Louis just sits there, staring, eyes wide and unblinking. Normally, Louis has a response for everything, but this has caught him completely off guard and he’s–  he’s at a loss for words. It’s got to be a joke, it has to be.

“I don’t get it,” he says with a frown.

“You don’t– there’s nothing to _get_ , Lou,” Harry strongly insists to his knees, “I– I do, I’m in love with you.”

“No, no, this has to be a joke,” Louis says. He refuses to believe this is real, Harry can’t be in love with him, it’ll... _ruin_ everything.

Harry finally looks up, a small smile gracing his lips as he makes eye contact for the first time since his confession. “It’s not a joke, boo, I do love you.”

And, well. Louis definitely wasn’t expecting that.

He’s speechless, though, is the thing. Louis knew Harry had had a thing for him back when they’d first met,  but Harry had been _sixteen_. Louis had assumed it must have been a crush, because no one _falls in love_ at sixteen. Uneasily, Louis remembers the time he and the boys first got drunk together; Harry had ended up confessing his love for him then too. But Louis had brushed it off and promptly forgot about it, because Aiden had introduced his best mate Ryan to the lot of them and Harry didn’t come back until ten the next morning, hair mussed and eyes sparkling.

Louis sort of figured he got over it really, never imagined his best mate would still have feelings for him after all this time. Because really, _what?_ It just doesn’t make any sense. It pretty much baffles him that he’s got one person in love with him (not including the fans, that’s a different sort of love) and yet, Harry loves him as well. Harry, as in _Harry_. His best friend. The man he lives with (in a platonic way) the man he works with, the man he shares everything from clothes to family with, the man who will always hold a special place in his heart – but in the way that Lottie does, rather than Eleanor.

It’s, well. Louis is overwhelmed and confused and… a little bit weirded out, if he’s honest. And he knows there’s so many things he could say right now – so many things he _should_ say – but the only thing he can seem to think of right now is–

“But I’m not gay.”

Really, Louis isn’t expecting smiles and rainbows to that, because Harry has a hard time accepting things he doesn’t want to be true, but what Louis doesn’t expect is for him to _laugh_. Louis sits there with a frown son his face and watches as Harry laughs at him while he proclaims his sexuality. _Harry_ , his best friend, is laughing about his sexuality, when all Louis ever did was accept him and tell him liking boys doesn’t make him any different. It sort of… hurts, if he’s honest.

“I’m not!” He says again, more defensive this time, and Harry calms down his laughter just enough to actually breathe and rest a hand on Louis’ thigh. (He also strokes Louis’ leg with his thumb, and it feels really nice, but Louis doesn’t want to think about that right now.)

“Right,” Harry giggles.

Louis literally can’t believe this. He can’t believe Harry is actually laughing in his face about being straight, he can’t believe that Harry doesn’t even think he is straight, in fact, he can’t believe Harry just automatically assumed he was gay. Louis isn’t homophobic, not at all, but he knows what he likes, and it’s vaginas, thank you very much.

It may be the lingering effects of the weed, making him more impulsive than usual – which in itself is sort of impossible, because Louis is the king of making rash decisions – but all of a sudden, Louis can’t really stand to be in a room with someone who just declared their love for him and doesn’t even believe him when he says he’s straight. It’s too much. He has to leave.

“I have to go,” Louis mutters. He stands up and puts his half-empty mug of tea on the table, before going out to the hallway and grabbing a random pair of shoes, the first jacket he sees, and his car keys.

“Louis, what–” He hears Harry start to protest from the living room. Louis doesn’t stick around to answer, already out the door and slamming it behind him before he even hears Harry move. He knows he’s not thinking straight _(the irony)_ but he can’t stand to be in there any longer.

Louis gets in his car – the less expensive one so that if he crashes it, it won’t matter as much – and drives away as quickly as possible. His eyes are itchy and red and he isn’t sure if that’s from the drugs or because he’s about to cry, but nonetheless, Louis puts his foot down and drives straight to Eleanor’s flat. If there’s one way Louis knows to prove he’s straight, it’s fucking his girlfriend into the mattress all night and forgetting about Harry’s stupid face.

***

When Louis wakes up the next morning, he isn’t on his extra comfy, mould-to-your-shape mattress for his bad back, but rather lying on a lumpy mattress with the thickest duvet on and someone’s arms around his waist. It confuses him, until he opens his eyes and is met with the interior of a dingy student flat, bird shit on the windows, and Eleanor’s hair in his mouth.

“Morning,” she whispers, apparently already awake, and kisses his jaw.

Louis groans loudly, “Time ‘s it?”

“About half ten-ish,” El replies, reaching across Louis to grab something from the bedside table.

It’s about this point in time when Louis starts to remember what happened last night. He and Harry had a fight – well it was less of a fight, more Louis just running off before it turned into anything – after that idiot declared his love for him, and then he and Eleanor went at it like rabbits until the early hours. Any time he could get it up, he was in. She even did that thing with her tongue that she rarely does anymore–  and Jesus, does Louis have morning wood already?

“Your phone’s been ringing since eight,” she says, placing the device in his hand, and bringing Louis out of his dirty recollections. They’re really good ones, mind, and really, _really_ dirty. “Do you have anything on today?”

“Nah,” he mutters, unlocking his phone and flicking through his notifications. Twenty-nine missed calls in total – three from Zayn, one from his mum, four from Liam, three from Niall, and eighteen from Harry. Fifty-four text messages as well, mainly saying the same thing ( _Harry called and told me what happened, Louis where are you, are you okay, answer your phone!_ ). The ones from his mum are sweet, _tried to call but you must be busy will try again later,_ and, _please don’t work too hard, give the boys my love._

And then there’s Harry’s texts. At first he’s confused, _Louis where have you gone? What did I do?_ but as it nears one a.m., he gets increasingly more desperate, _please let me know you’re okay, come back, I’m sorry._ Louis feels guilty, but he shouldn’t, because this is Harry’s fault, right? Harry is the one who confessed his stupid love for him and then laughed in Louis’ face when he said he was straight. Louis isn’t gay, this isn’t fair. It’s not fair for Harry to push his feelings on to someone else just because he has a thing for them, and Louis will not stand for it.

He gets out of bed – ignoring Eleanor’s protests – and dresses quickly, before going back over to her and planting a kiss on her forehead. “I’m sorry I have to leave, something came up.”

“Is this about Harry?” She asks, “I think it was somewhere between the third and fourth time, you mentioned that the two of you had a fight.”

Louis doesn’t even remember that. But– “Yeah, it’s about that.”

“Good luck then, babe,” El says sweetly. Louis smiles and turns to leave again, stuffing his phone and car keys into the pocket of his joggers. “I love you.”

Louis falters for a moment before he replies with a tight, “You too babe,” and then he’s out the door, tipping his imaginary hat to El’s roommate, Flo, before he’s out in the street, making for his car.

When he gets inside, he rests his head on the steering wheel and lets himself breathe, just for a moment. His thoughts are going wild, whizzing through his head too fast for him to focus on them individually. Everything is a mess right now. His best friend is in love with him, and now Louis can’t even say those three words to his girlfriend, even though they’ve been saying it from six months in. Harry’s confession is screwing with his head, and that’s not fair. He turns on the ignition and drives home, so he can sort this out before it gets any worse.

His palms are sweating when he knocks on the door at his own flat. It doesn’t seem right to use his keys, not when he stormed out like he did last night. But then the door swings open, and Harry looks ten times worse than Louis feels. His eyes are red and puffy, probably from crying, his skin is pale, and his lips are bitten raw. He’s still in the same clothes as yesterday, just like Louis is, and honestly, that makes his feel a little better, that Harry feels this terrible after what happened. Because– well, he should, as shitty as that sounds.

“Louis,” he breathes, as though a weight has been lifted off his shoulders, now that Louis has come home. He surges forward, as if to give Louis a hug – or a kiss, who knows – but Louis doesn’t want it. He steps back a little and watches with a heavy heart as Harry’s face falls and his shoulders drop in disappointment.

Louis clears his throat, “Can I… Can I come in then?”

“Not like you have to ask,” Harry mutters as he steps aside to make way for Louis, “You do live here, after all.”

“I know,” he says with a nod, taking off his coat and shoes before walking in to the kitchen. “I just thought that after last night, you might not exactly want me here.”

Harry bites his lip, “Look, about last night–”

“Why did you think I was gay?” Louis asks, willing his voice not to crack. His fingers tap on the marble countertop in anticipation as another stifling silence drops over the pair of them. He knows he’s asking stupid, petty questions to stall having to ask the important ones, but that’s what Louis does best, so. It’s not like he actually cares if he looks gay or not, he’d just rather if people (especially his best friend) actually asked him before making assumptions.

“What?”

Louis clears his throat and repeats himself, thanking his voice for sounding stronger this time, “Why did you think I was gay?”

“The fans think–”

_Okay, what the fuck_.

“I don’t give a shit about what the fans think, Harry!” Louis shouts, slamming his fist down on the marble hard enough for Harry to wince, and for his hand to start throbbing. “The fans don’t know me, they don’t see me every day, they don’t get high and watch TV shows they don’t even like with me just to make me happy, the fans aren’t my best friend!” Harry’s eyes are watering and Louis is pretty sure his are too, but he’s not about to admit it. “You matter to me because you’re my best friend, so please. Just. Just tell me.”

Harry doesn’t speak for a while, just gulps a lot and scratches the back of his head nervously. Louis understands, he’s pretty much shitting himself as well. “I… I dunno really. I guess you just gave off a gay aura, as it were.”

“What _specifically_?”

“Um, just how you were so open and… flamboyant, you just didn’t care, dressed how you wanted, said what you wanted, acted exactly how you wanted to,” Harry mumbles under his breath, that Louis has to lean over the island a little bit to hear him.

“So… because I did what I want, that made you think I was into men?”

“No, no,” Harry says, shaking his head wildly, “It was just, the _way_ you dressed, the _things_ you said, the _way_ you acted. I know it’s really stereotypical of me, but you can’t deny you acted really camp in the X-Factor house.”

Louis can’t deny it. He didn’t think the way he acted was camp at the time – rather excitable, or loud – but now looking back, he can see that’s exactly what it was. Maybe that’s why Louis doesn’t exactly mind when people mistake him for being gay, because he didn’t exactly help the situation when he first came into the public eye. Well, maybe people _other_ than his best friends.

“I probably should’ve asked, I’m sorry, Lou,” Harry continues when Louis doesn’t say anything, “I… I probably shouldn’t have said all that stuff last night, and I definitely shouldn’t have laughed when you said you were straight,”

Louis nods shortly and folds his arms, “No, you shouldn’t have.”

“I’m a shit friend,” he says, biting his lip. Louis lets a small smile creep its way on to his lips; he knows exactly what Harry is doing. Louis doesn’t like when people apologise, and he definitely doesn’t like forgiving them, which Harry is apparently fine with. Sometimes he has to prompt for hours before he squeezes something out of him. It works the same if Louis is the one who needs to apologise.

In the past, Louis’ managed to drag it out for days, but today he doesn’t really feel like it, even though Harry really kind of deserves it. Louis just wants to hug his best friend for a bit. So he does, mumbling a short, _“forgive you,”_ into Harry’s shoulder.

They’re going to be alright, Louis thinks.

***

They aren’t alright.

Two days later, they’re back on tour, catching a short flight to France from which they transfer to the bus, the bus they will call their home pretty much all the way round Europe. It’ll be smelly and tiring for the most part, but somehow travelling with the boys always seems to make it better. Or, it did until Harry confessed his ‘love’ for him.

Everything is tense and wrong between them. Louis second guesses pretty much everything he does or says _(“does this make me look gay?”)_ and as a result he’s snapping at everyone. Harry doesn’t dare go near him, probably because he knows it’s all his fault. Which, okay, that’s a lie. Harry does go near him, just not in the way Louis is used to. They’re still close, but now more normal level of friends close, not Harry-and-Louis close, and everyone’s starting to notice.

“Louis! Come back here!”

Louis cackles and runs even faster, holding his prize (though can Liam’s stupid hat really be counted as a prize?) above his head like the spoils of war. Liam’s probably gone off and whined to Paul by now, which means everyone on their team with a walkie-talkie is on the lookout for him. Nowhere is safe.

He whizzes around a corner and – unfortunately – bumps into Gil, who seems to be having a very in-depth conversation on his radio with Paul. Louis gulps loudly when Gil’s eyes narrow and squawks, trying to duck past him, but Gil’s freakishly long arms catch him before he can get away.

“Not so fast!” Gil growls, (literally) dragging him back to the dressing rooms. “You’re causing way too much trouble lately, Louis. More than you usually do.”

“That’s me, the troublemaker!” Louis says proudly, and as good ol’ Olly Murs puts the song in his head, he decides to scream the rest of the verse as Gil drags him down the corridors. “ _Why does it feel so good but hurt so bad, my mind keeps sayin’ run as fast as you can, I say I’m done but then you pull me back, I swear you’re giving me a heart attack. Troublemaker!_ ”

Gil groans loudly, and mutters something about Harry under his breath, but Louis doesn’t comment on it. He and Harry aren’t okay at the moment. When he’s pushed into the dressing room, Liam is sulking, pouting about his stupid hat that Louis stole, and Louis almost rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t because that would be mean, and Louis isn’t a mean person. Mostly.

“Give it back then, Louis,” Gil says, nodding towards Liam, who holds his hand out expectantly. Louis groans loudly and shoves the hat on Liam’s head, effectively messing up his hair in the process.

“Oi!” Liam groans, rearranging his hat. “Gil!”

Gil shakes his head and holds his hands up, backing out of the room, “Sorry mate, my work here is done. I’m needed elsewhere, apparently Harry’s got his finger stuck in a flute.”

“Where on earth did he find a flute from? That boy, honestly,” Liam grumbles. A fond grin twitches at the corners of his mouth before he clears his throat and slips his phone out from his pocket, quickly opening the Twitter app. Louis wonders if that’s what he looks like when Harry does something stupidly cute, but quickly shakes his head out of that idea. He’s mad at Harry. Well, no, he isn’t. They’re just not close anymore.

Louis quickly gets rid of that train of thought, however, distracting himself with asking Liam where Niall is. Liam just shrugs, scratching his stubble, “Dunno, he took a phone call about ten minutes ago, hasn’t been back since,”

“Oh.” Louis definitely doesn’t want to disturb that conversation. It’s probably whichever model he’s boning this week and they’re doing some weird phone sex stuff. Niall has a complex love life that Louis hasn’t bothered to get invested in. “How about Zayn?”

“Next door, painting,” Liam says, before backtracking a little too late – when Louis is already halfway out the door – and shouts, “Leave him alone though Lou, yeah?”

_Nope,_ Louis thinks gleefully, creeping next door. He needs someone to distract him from the hole Harry has left in his life, and if that person is going to be Zayn, then so be it. Zayn, as promised, is painting. He’s kneeling in the middle of a paper-covered room, paint pots to his right, brushes to his left, and a pencil in his hand. His drawing is cartoonish and abstract, typical Zayn style. Louis isn’t going to pretend he knows anything about art.

“Stay away, Lou,” Zayn warns, not looking up from his drawing. “It’s for Pel.”

Louis pouts and spreads himself out in front of Zayn, posing like a model, one hand cradling the back of his head, “Paint me like one of your French girls. Zayn,”

“Just go away, dickhead” he mutters, but it lacks heat. “Go bother Harry,”

“Why would I do that?” Louis asks with a scowl, tearing at the corners of the sheets of paper covering the floor. It annoys him that everyone automatically assumes he wants to be with Harry, but it annoys him even more that the only thing he wants to do right now is exactly that.

Zayn rolls his eyes, “Because you _always_ bother Harry,”

“Oi!”

“Never really noticed how much you did until the two of you had a tiff,” he mutters, grabbing a rubber and getting rid of the patterned forehead he’d just drawn. _Art must be so frustrating_ , Louis thinks. _Why does anyone even bother?_

“We aren’t having a tiff, Zayn,” Louis mutters, ripping a rough square shape off the corner of a piece of paper and attempting to fold it into a paper hat. The twins had an origami set when they were five, and would always rope Louis in to Origami Sunday once a fortnight (god knows how), so he’d like to say he knows what he’s doing. “We had a moment in the break, yeah, but we’re all good now. It was all cleared up the morning after,”

Zayn hums and Louis thinks that’s the only answer he’s going to get, so he focuses on the little square of paper. It’s a terrible hat, far too small even for his little finger, ripped at the corners where he’d bent it wrong. Louis will have to skype Daisy and ask her to re-teach him. She always was the more patient one. He looks up to find Zayn staring at him, pencil between his teeth, and eyebrow raised, “Why aren’t you bothering him, then?”

“Oh, I see,” Louis says, throwing the paper hat in the water for the brushes, and folding his arms sulkily. He knows he’s acting like a child, but that’s his specialty. “Maybe I will then, ‘f you don’t want me here,”

“Shut the door on your way out,” he says, chuckling a little when Louis kicks his arm.

Even though he said he’d go, he doesn’t. He stays and watches Zayn finish his drawing ( _“looks like Magneto did a shit, mate,”_ ) and even watches him start painting the background a vibrant puce, before Linda eventually finds him and drags him, kicking and screaming, to Wardrobe. Stupid Zayn being allowed to stay in his solitary room and paint stupid pictures for his stupid girlfriend. Louis is definitely not sulking.

“Louis William Tomlinson, you were supposed to come sort out your outfit fifteen minutes ago,” Caroline snaps when he gets to the clothes-filled room.

Louis just tuts. “Not like you need me, Cazza, I mean, it is your _job_ to sort out my clothes innit?”

“Yes dear, but you always complain you don’t like what I pick, don’t you?” she retorts, pulling him over to the rail of shirts specifically for him– filled with t-shirts most like his existing style. Louis folds his arms and begins to formulate a sassy retort (something along the lines of; _“Well maybe if you picked nice clothes we wouldn’t have this problem, would we?”_ ) but he doesn’t get a chance, because then Harry is walking through the door, laughing along with two techies who probably work at the concert hall. Harry can’t even speak French.

Harry must notice him at around about the same time, because he stops laughing and clears his throat awkwardly, “Oh, hey Louis,”

It’s heavy and stilted, not like their normal banter, and Louis hates it. Fine, if Harry’s going to be like that, Louis will play along. He folds his arms and gives a short, _“Hey,”_ before turning around and completely ignoring the twenty-year old.

“Black jeans I think, Lou, yeah?” Caroline asks, Louis just nods absentmindedly. He’s moved along to the t-shirts, Caroline immediately picking out a white one with a fluorescent pink psychedelic face, a dark purple one with white swirls on, and a tie-dye grey one. They’re all far too... _gay_ , in Louis’ opinion. He doesn’t dress camp anymore, he stopped that after The X-Factor.

Louis moves along the rack a little bit and picks out a plain white t-shirt with a pocket on the left side and a scoop neck. Yes, this is safe. “This one.”

“Really?” Caroline asks, bemused, “I thought you’d go for something a little more... loud.”

“Not anymore,” he says, and he doesn’t mean to, but somehow Louis catches Harry’s eye at that exact moment, making the younger boy flush red in embarrassment. He knows this is his doing.

“If that’s what you want to wear, poppet,” Caroline shrugs.

“Yeah, Lou,” Harry pipes up, eyes a little bit glassy. Louis thinks maybe he wants to cry. “Wear what you want. Don’t let other people define you.”

Louis stares Harry down as hard as he can, “I won’t.”

***

Louis shudders awake from his bad dream and sits up, sweating. He’s panting, maybe tearing up a little bit, but the scenes of the nightmare slowly slip away from his memory. He suddenly feels extremely stupid. Who has a bad dream and then doesn’t even remember it? It’s not as though he wants to remember it, given it almost scared him half to death, but it’s still pathetic. Louis is pathetic.

He hasn’t been sleeping well in hotels lately. Usually he shares with either Harry or Zayn – Louis admits that he’s too much of a wimp to sleep in a room by himself –  but since they’ve been back on tour, Louis has been made to sleep alone. It’s not so bad, seeing as they spend most their time on the tour bus, but when they have to play more than one night in the same arena, or if the boys get a plane ahead of the bus to get an extra few hours of sleep, then they kip in comfy hotel beds. Which would be absolutely great, if Louis wasn’t alone in his room.

They’re in– Louis can’t even remember. Germany, probably, or maybe Switzerland. He’s long since given up trying to keep track. That’s what Niall is for.

Louis sighs loudly and flops back down on the pillow, rubbing his hands over his face as he blinks up at the ceiling. He can hear the little alarm clock ticking every second, his tiredness slipping away as each second passes. It’s three in the morning. Louis groans quietly and rolls onto his side in an attempt to get comfortable, but only succeeds in waking himself up even more. Quite frankly, he’s thankful for the distraction, when someone knocks – rather impatiently – at the door.

He’s not really expecting it though, when he opens the door to see a slightly red-eyed Harry standing in its place. The light from the hall blinds him momentarily and Louis has to blink a few times to see anything but dark curls and the white knuckles clutching the door frame. Suddenly, he’s already being pushed inside again and the door is clicking softly shut. Harry crowds him up against the wall, their faces close. Harry’s drunk, Louis can smell it on his breath. He’s drunk and he doesn’t know what he’s doing and Louis should be a good friend and pull away, let him crash on the sofa while he sleeps it off.

But he doesn’t.

Louis doesn’t pull away, he just watches Harry’s face inch closer and closer, and – he shouldn’t be wanting this, because Harry is a _man_ , and Louis has a girlfriend, but he can’t help but be intrigued at what those lips have the potential to do. He’s seen them puffy, and spit-slicked, and wind-chapped, and why is Louis thinking so hard about Harry’s lips right now?

“Harry,” he whispers quietly – maybe in protest, maybe impatience, no one can say for certain – when Harry’s breath is warm against his lips, their noses brushing together with every rise and fall of their chests.

Harry just smirks, closes the space between them, and suddenly they’re kissing. They’re _kissing_. Louis, a man, is kissing Harry, another man, and he doesn’t hate it. Kind of likes it, in fact, so much so that he tangles one hand in Harry’s hair to pull him even closer, the other pulling at his t-shirt. He never expected it to feel like this, kissing another bloke. It feels– it’s better than any kiss he’s had with Eleanor, or any of his other girlfriends for that matter. It’s as though he’s getting kissed for the first time, and Louis honestly can’t decide if that is because of the time of day, the amazingly hot pressure grinding into his dick, or the fact that it’s Harry who is the one kissing him.

What is he saying, of course it’s the grinding on his dick, Louis is twenty-one and he hasn’t had sex in three weeks. He just wants to get off.

The angle is a bit awkward though, so when Harry mumbles a questioning, _“Bed?”_ he just nods and lets Harry guide them both towards where Louis vaguely remembers the bed being. It’s inevitable that they stumble into a wall because _of course_. When they do, it makes them erupt into a fit of giggles, Louis resting his head on Harry’s chest while the taller boy groans softly.

“Screw this,” He mutters, before bending down and picking Louis up, bridal style, and carrying him to the bed. Louis definitely does not squeal.

Louis was sort of expecting to be thrown on the bed, like they do in the movies, but even when clearly off his face, Harry is still the most gentle and caring person in the world, plopping Louis gently on the sheets, before climbing on himself. And then they’re kissing again, Louis is almost completely sure he initiated it this time – which, whoa, what the fuck? – but it also feels really nice, so he’s not sure he cares all that much. It makes his groin tingle with want and his face heat up in probably the least sexy way possible, but judging by the way Harry is still rutting against his upper thigh, it doesn’t seem to bother him.

His fingers are wound tightly in Harry’s hair as he licks into the younger boy’s mouth for what feels like forever. Louis isn’t a very practiced kisser, he doesn’t think, only really had a few heated make-out sessions in his whole life, so it isn’t long before he seriously can’t breathe and he absolutely has to pull away before he passes out. Harry doesn’t seem to mind, opting for kissing his way down to Louis’ collarbone, where he sucks a love bite into the top curl of the first _‘S’_ in his _‘It Is What It Is’_ tattoo.

It’s– Louis has never received a love bite before. He’s given plenty, and always assumed they felt good, from the girls’ reactions, but he honest-to-god never thought they would feel _this_ good. So, it’s really not Louis’ fault that he moans as loud as he does, or tugs Harry’s hair so hard he almost rips it out of his scalp. It’s not his fault that Harry has to pull away and kiss his lips just to quieten him down, with a whisper of, _“Don’t want anyone else to hear, Boobear.”_ And that shouldn’t be as hot as it is.

Firstly, Louis can _not_ believe Harry just called him Boobear in the middle of– whatever this is. Secondly, Louis can’t believe how right it sounds, how sexy and dirty it feels for Harry to be disgracing the childish nickname his grandmother gave him with boners and love bites. He almost comes.

“Harry, clothes, please, no more clothes,” he whines, tugging at the zip of Harry’s fleece (what kind of loser _does the zip up_ , honestly). Louis shocks himself with how completely wrecked he already sounds, his voice cracking harshly in odd places. The begging in itself is bad enough. He’s lost all sense of time and all previous coherency he thought he’d never lose. Letting someone else take control is something he’s never done before, but he can’t say for a second he doesn’t prefer it.

The clothes are gone in a blink of an eye, Louis isn’t really sure quite how Harry manages his, but he’s not so sure he cares that much either. What matters is that they’re kissing and naked and Harry’s fingers are digging in to Louis’ hips and Louis is bucking his hips up so that his cock grazes Harry’s. Well, at least he isn’t the only one who’s hard, that would be embarrassing. And honestly, Louis really isn’t all that sure why he tells Harry that there’s some lube in the top drawer, nor why he kisses down the other boy’s neck while he gets it, nor why he licks his lips when Harry’s fingers are pressed up against his hole. But he does it, and that’s all that matters.

“You ready for this, babe?” Harry asks, his fingers still with the lightest pressure on Louis’ hole. Suddenly, he’s overcome with nerves, doesn’t quite know what to do or say, can’t even believe he’s doing this in the first place. Sex with a man, who’d have thought? Harry seems to get it, presses a kiss over Louis’ heart and then one on his forehead. “I’ll go slow, promise. And if you want me to stop I will, straight away.”

That’s all it takes for Louis to smile and say, _“Okay,”_ and then Harry is slowly pushing a long finger into Louis' arsehole.

It’s– different, that’s for sure. Certainly not how Louis expected it to feel, he actually kind of _likes_ it. Honestly, who’d have thought he liked having his arsehole played with, not Louis that’s for sure. It takes a while for Louis to find it pleasurable, rather than just plain nice, but when he does, _God_ , does he love it. How Harry knows which way to angle his finger, how far to push in or pull out, how much of a drag is not uncomfortable, Louis is baffled. He never expected his best mate to be so good with his fingers.

Once he’s three fingers in, and Louis is about two seconds away from coming without even touching his cock, Harry crooks his fingers and hits something that drives Louis _crazy_. He’s not sure what it is, but it feels so good he’s basically begging for it, scratching at Harry’s back with his nails and biting his lip to stop the constant moans he wants to let out..

“Harry, please, get in me, I need you in me, please, _please_.” Which, okay, scratch that, he’s definitely begging for it.

Harry shushes him with a kiss, “I’ve got you, Lou, it’s alright,”

Harry removes his fingers, and Louis whimpers and leans up to snog him properly. It’s a lot less controlled when they kiss this time, Louis far too gone to do anything other than open his mouth wide to let Harry’s tongue inside. Harry rests his forehead against Louis’ as he spreads Louis’ legs wider, he bites Louis’ bottom lip and seals their mouths together as he lubes up his cock and rests the head up against Louis’ hole and pushes in, and if Louis whines into Harry’s mouth in relief, no one has to know.

***

“Hola Barcelona!¿Cómo están esta noche?” Niall screams, the crowd goes wild. Louis didn’t even know they were in Spain.

That’s nothing against the Spanish, mind, not saying they aren’t memorable or nothing, he’s just been a little…preoccupied lately. Nothing that important, just that he had sex with a _man,_ with Harry Styles, a.k.a. his best friend, who – to be precise – is also in love with him. It makes him feel sick, Louis literally can’t believe he let it happen, can’t believe he cheated on Eleanor with a _man_. He sounds homophobic, he knows, but he just can’t get over the fact that he let his best mate put his dick up his arse, it’s just wrong.

He’s sitting on the side of the stage with a bottle of water in his hand, not really listening to Niall’s spiel, just looking out over the crowd, taking it all in. And then there’s a hand on his shoulder, pulling him in, and there’s only one person it could be, which makes his stomach drop. Zayn and Liam are on the other side of the stage (Louis can see them) and Niall is still talking to the crowd – who seems to have got just a tad more wild in the time since he’s been touched on the shoulder – which means there’s only one person left; Harry Styles, a.k.a. his best friend, a.k.a. the man he slept with.

“Why have you been avoiding me?” Harry mumbles lowly, but not so lowly that Louis can’t hear over the roar of the crowd.

Louis snorts, “Why do you think?”

“What,” he says again, and Niall is finishing up his speech now, so Louis knows this conversation won’t necessarily last very long. “Because we screwed and you loved it?”

“No, because you’re in love with me and I cheated on Eleanor,” Louis says, making a face. He hears a gasp in the front row and almost face palms – how could he forget that some fans are amazing lip readers. Hopefully no one will believe her, or worst case scenario, Eleanor won’t mind.

Harry leans in again, which to be honest, probably only makes the situation worse, “We need to talk about this alone, come see me after the show,”

Louis laughs this time and walks away as he hears Josh start banging out the first few beats of the next song. When he looks over at Harry on the other side of the show, he’s giving him a look, the sort of look that is smug and questioning, one that silently asks, _“Well?”_

“ _No_ ,” he mouths, though to be honest, he knows he probably will in the end.

***

Louis has full intentions to ignore Harry after the show, and probably all the way to the end of this leg, he really does. It’s not entirely his fault, however, when the idiot snatches him right out of the hallway and drags him into a cleaner’s cupboard. It’s basically kidnapping, really, and Louis intends on telling him as much.

“What are you doing?” He hisses quietly, shrugging out of Harry’s grip on his arm, “You can’t just go around snatching people out of corridors!”

Harry shrugs, a small smile playing on his lips, “Only way I could get you to talk to me.”

“This is kidnapping,” Louis says scornfully, narrowing his eyes at Harry and folding his arms. “I could get you arrested for stalking or something,”

“Don’t be so melodramatic, Lou,” Harry huffs, smirking.

Louis tuts loudly and turns his head to the side, refusing to look at Harry even if he probably couldn’t see him in this dim lighting. There’s some bleach right there on the shelf, and Louis wonders briefly if it would be more painful to drink the whole bottle, or attempt to have this silent conversation with his best mate. He quickly disregards that line of thought, however, knowing that this conversation would win every single time.

He’d silently vowed to not say a word, let Harry do all the talking, but when it becomes apparent that the boy isn’t going to speak without a prompt, Louis rolls his eyes and sighs out a judgemental, “Well?”

“Well what?”

“ _Well_ , what on earth did you drag me in this cupboard for, Harry, pray tell, because I’d quite like to go back to the hotel and get changed if it’s no bother to you,” Louis spits out. There’s probably a little too much bite in his tone, but Harry most definitely deserves it for putting his cock in his arse. (He deserves it more for making Louis want to get his arse around that cock again, but, details.)

“You always were feisty,” Harry grins, making Louis roll his eyes again, “I love that about you,”

“Harry Styles spit it the _fuck_ out, so help me god,”

“I–” Harry cuts himself off with a long sigh, before starting again, “I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have had sex with you, not when you don’t even love me back, and especially not when I was drunk.”

Louis frowns, “What’s done is done,”

“Louis,” Harry whines, frustrated, “This has killed our friendship, I don’t want that. Let me fix it, tell me how to fix it,”

“I don’t know, Harry, you’re going to have to do this one yourself,” Louis mutters, looking over Harry’s shoulder. The yellowish paint is peeling off the wall and he honestly favours looking at that than Harry right now.

“C’mon, there’s got to be something I can do.”

“How about stop loving me, for a start.” He doesn’t mean to say it, he doesn’t mean for it to come out so harsh, but it does, and Louis can practically see Harry’s heart breaking right in front of him.

There’s a long silence after that.

Louis doesn’t really know what to say – _sorry_ would be a good place to start, but the problem is he actually isn’t that sorry, he sort of means it – or how to comfort him, or make this better. It’s quite obvious Harry is upset, he hasn’t said as much, but Louis can tell; Louis can always tell. They just stare at each other, Harry’s face slowly crumbling in front of him, Louis maintaining his indifferent expression with a lot of difficulty, neither saying a word, or moving a muscle, until–

He’s not sure how it happens, not sure who moves first, or initiates it, but it happens, it _is_ happening, and that’s probably all that matters. They’re kissing now, just lips on lips, sweet and careful. Louis’ fingers are touching Harry’s jaw lightly – which makes him think it was himself who initiated it – and after a few long moments, Harry’s own hands find their way to Louis’ waist, tugging them closer together. It’s not like the first time, when that was all about sex, no, this is about comfort and security. Louis has always known how to comfort Harry – a brush of their knees or a pat on the back that lingers a second too long if they’re in public, or a nice long hug and a grounding hand on his waist if they’re at home – and this just seems like an extension of that.

Kissing Harry is probably something that Louis will ever get used to. Not that he’ll have to, obviously, he’s got a girlfriend after all. Harry has these…lips, they’re so sweet and warm and soft and they feel so nice to kiss. It’s Harry’s smell that clouds Louis’ senses and all he can taste is HarryHarryHarry on his tongue and it’s just so wonderful that he wants so much more of it. Louis definitely is the one to deepen the kiss. Harry seems surprised when Louis wiggles his tongue inside his mouth, but he doesn’t object, and soon enough they’re proper snogging.

Louis walks Harry backwards, intending to push him up against the wall, but, being Harry, he stumbles into a bucket of some sort, causing them to crash to the ground in a heap. Louis smiles when Harry groans into his mouth, and barely pulls his lips away to whisper, _“You’re such a klutz,”_ in the shared space between them. Harry laughs but doesn’t say anything else, just squeezes Louis’ hips and reattaches their lips.

It may be the change in altitude – loosely speaking – but something in the atmosphere changes between them, and the kiss takes a more desperate tone. Louis is tonguing into his mouth desperately, and apparently they’re both _hard,_ because Louis can feel Harry’s semi against his own, and maybe he starts grinding down a little, but no one has to know that. Harry pulls away, probably to catch his breath, and rests his head on the tiled floor, but Louis is far from finished. He kisses down Harry’s jaw, licking up his neck, teasingly biting the spots that he finds to be more sensitive, breathing hotly on the mess he’s made. All just to see Harry squirm.

Harry looks so beautiful like this, neck strained, cheeks flushed, eyes squeezed shut, puffing out these short little breaths mixed in with barely-there whimpers that get Louis from vaguely aroused to rock hard in 0.2 seconds. And he doesn’t really know why he says it, maybe he wants to see Harry completely lose his mind, maybe he actually wants to do it, but nonetheless Louis finds the words slipping out of his mouth before he’s really thought it through, “Wanna suck you off.”

“Yeah, Lou, want that too, please, God,” Harry groans loudly, so loud that Louis has to clap his hand over Harry’s mouth.

“Shh,” he whispers with a hint of a giggle, “I will, but only if you’re quiet, don’t want the others to hear,”

Harry nods and mutters, _“Okay,”_ but it gets lost in Louis’ mouth when he starts pressing short kisses to Harry’s lips before making his way down Harry’s body. Louis isn’t sure where he got all this confidence from, but it doesn’t matter that much to him right now, what matters is getting Harry naked. He’s halfway there – he’s pushed up Harry’s t-shirt as far as it’ll go and pulled his joggers down to his knees – when there’s a tentative knock on the door.

“Harry? You still in there?” It’s Liam. Louis sighs and rests his head on Harry’s lower stomach.

“Yeah,” he answers, his voice wavering a little. Louis can’t help but be smug about that.

There’s a thump and a sigh, so Louis guesses Liam’s rested his head on the door– probably in relief. “Okay, well, we’re ready to go to the hotel now so. Oh and by the way, have you seen Louis?”

“Here too, Li,” Louis says with a little chuckle.

“I’ll…give you two a minute,” He mutters, before walking away. As soon as he hears the footsteps getting quieter, Louis bursts into a fit of giggles. It probably shouldn’t be his first reaction, but he can’t get over the fact that Liam almost walked in on Louis sucking off his best mate. The ridiculousness of it, that’s what makes him laugh.

“What?” Harry asks, his hand moving to curl at the base of Louis’ neck, “What’s so funny,”

“Nothing,” he giggles, pulling up Harry’s joggers and pressing a kiss to the centre of his butterfly tattoo, before standing up and straightening out his clothes, “C’mon, better get back or Paul will bust a nut.”

Harry grins and takes Louis’ outstretched hand, “I hope I do as well by the end of the night.”

“Oh you’ll get your blowie, that’s a promise,” He says with a wink, before sauntering out of the cupboard, Harry following close behind him. And if he catches Harry looking at his crotch on more than one occasion on their way to the hotel, well, he doesn’t need to comment on it.

***

It was a joke, really, he didn’t actually intend on giving Harry a blowjob. And yet here he is, freshly showered, knocking on Harry’s hotel room with only one thing on his mind.

“Louis,” Harry smiles when he opens the door, though it’s obvious he’s surprised to see him, “No offense mate, but what’re you doing here?”

Louis can’t help himself, he raises a teasing eyebrow and smirks smugly, “Don’t want that blowjob then? I’ll just go, shall I?”

“No, wait!” Harry says when Louis turns to walk away, eyes wide, “Come inside, yeah? I’m sure we can work something out,”

It was pretty obvious to Louis that Harry wasn’t going to turn that down, no man in their right mind would turn down a blowjob, no matter who was offering to them. He smirks and enters Harry’s hotel room when the younger man steps aside, making his way to the bedroom and sitting himself on the edge of the bed. It’s probably really cruel that Louis perches right on the edge and arches his back, so his bum is sticking out extra far, and casts his head low so he’ll be able to look at Harry through his lashes, but then again, Louis has never been one for playing fair.

When Harry comes in a few moments later, his cheeks are already flushed with embarrassment and his hands are flittering about with anticipation. He’s apparently really geared up for this blowie. Louis looks up through his lashes, going for a super sexy look, and it must work, because Harry actually _misses_ a step and groans out loud. It doesn’t faze Louis one bit, he just smiles and pats the bed next to him, waiting until Harry sits down to lean in close, ghost their lips together and whisper huskily, “You ready?”

Harry hisses and nods, which Louis takes as a yes, and so slides off the bed so he is level with Harry’s cock. It’s hard, Louis can see the outline beneath his joggers, probably painful by now, and when he moves his hands to the waistband, it twitches beneath him. Wow, Harry literally has the sex drive of a teenager. Louis bites his lip and slowly pulls both the bottoms and Harry’s pants down at the same time, to be met with a very hard, very pretty, very large cock. He’s not entirely sure how that thing actually fit inside him, if he’s honest, not with how thick and long it is.

The anxiety hits him like a tonne of bricks. Louis has never given a blowjob before, never even wanted to before tonight, but here he is, on his knees for his best friend. It’s only just starting to sink in, to be honest, that Louis is going to put a _penis_ in his mouth, repeatedly, until Harry blows his load, probably. God, that’s a bit daunting, really.

Luckily for Louis, Harry notices his hesitance and reaches down to stroke his jaw softly, “Lou, you don’t have to. We could just snog, or if you don’t want that either we can just cuddle, like we used to, yeah?”

“No, no, I– I want this,” Louis says, eyeing Harry's cock cautiously, “I just...I don’t really know where to start?”

Harry pauses for a moment, thinking carefully about his answer, “Well, have you ever been sucked off yourself?” Louis just glares, of course he has, he has a very good sex life thanks very much, “Just checking, calm down. So you know what it feels like, you know what a girl does when she gives you head. Just do that,”

Louis nods, but honestly that isn’t very helpful and he’s still a little apprehensive. Nevertheless, it’s a bit of a now or never situation, so Louis does what he always does, and swallows his fears, wrapping his hand round the base of Harry’s dick and guiding it into his mouth. Harry hisses through his teeth on the way down, his hands gripping the duvet cover tightly, so Louis figures he must be doing a good job. When he’s down as far as he can (it’s only about half way, which is frankly kind of pathetic) Louis waits for a bit, gets used to breathing out his nose, to the heavy weight on his tongue, to the body heat radiating off Harry’s abdomen, before he even thinks about moving.

“God, Louis, your mouth–” Harry cuts himself off with a moan, which makes the corners of Louis’ mouth tug into as much of a proud smile he can muster with a cock in his mouth. “So good, Lou, so bloody good.”

For some reason, just the confirmation that he’s doing good, makes Louis want to do even better, prove Harry right that it _is_ good. He gulps, momentarily forgetting his mouth is otherwise occupied – although Harry certainly doesn’t seem to be complaining – before ever so slowly pulling up to the head of Harry’s dick once again. Louis remembers his very first girlfriend used to do this amazing thing where she’d suck all along the underside of the rim of his bellend, and dip her tongue into his slit, gave the head of his dick so much love, and he remembers how good that felt, so tries to replicate it.

It doesn’t go so well at first, all Louis succeeds in is getting precome smeared all over his cheeks, and scraping his teeth too harshly in the wrong places. Harry doesn’t seem to be enjoying it that much, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t encouraging Louis to keep going. Harry is a saint, really. He soon gets the hang of it though, bobbing his head with plenty of spit to keep things moving, his hand sliding up the bit he can’t fit in. Louis even dares to attempt to push his tongue into Harry’s slit – minus the teeth this time – and needless to say it pays off pretty well.

“Louis, fuck– close baby, so close,” Harry says, voice sounding fucked out and _gorgeous_ , so Louis sucks harder, goes down further, twists his hand faster.

It’s not really Harry’s fault, not really, it’s just his prick is so big, and Louis’ mouth is so small, that it was bound to happen eventually. Harry’s dick was bound to hit the back of his throat, cut off his air supply for a few seconds, make him cough and splutter. Louis is still surprised when it happens, but powers on through, for Harry’s sake. The younger man seems to like it, so Louis does it again and again, each time seeming a little easier on his throat. It gets to the point where Louis can feel Harry’s pubes brushing against his nose (gross) and there are tears pricking his eyes, and his jaw is aching, but he doesn’t let up.

Not until Harry is pulling at his hair, anyway, “Careful, don’t want you to pass out, darling,”

Harry pulls him off completely, lets Louis take some well deserved deep breaths, lets him think for a moment. Which, probably a bad idea, because as soon as he’s left to think for even a second, Louis starts panicking. He – he’s done it again. Mr. _“But I’m Not Gay”_ has done something completely one hundred percent gay, yet again. That, sort of scares him, to be honest. How could he let this happen? Louis has no one to blame but himself– he’s not high or drunk and this was completely his idea.

He just doesn’t understand. Louis has never been interested in anything other than girls, not until Harry told him he was in love with him. Maybe he just wants to be loved? Louis knows deep down that’s not what this is, if he wanted to be loved, he’d stick with El. Oh god, Eleanor. Louis is a cheat, Louis cheated on his girlfriend, whom he completely forgot about, with another bloke. Louis is utterly ashamed with himself.

“Are– are you crying?” Harry asks slowly, cautiously, and Louis snaps his head up to meet his gaze. It takes him a few moments to figure out what Harry means, and promptly wipes at his (wet) eyes with the back of his hand.

“No,” he says.

Harry frowns, “But–”

Louis does _not_ want to have this conversation right now, so he takes Harry in all the way once again and Harry cuts himself off with a groan. He keeps at it, licking and sucking and stroking Harry’s prick until he comes down Louis’ throat with a low moan. Louis tries desperately to swallow it all, while also jacking himself off quickly under his joggers, creaming his pants before Harry is even back ‘round. There’s come making it’s way down Louis’ chin, and Harry smiles, wiping it away softly with the pad of his thumb. Louis’ eyes flutter shut at the moment, and then it hits him. He’s just wanked off with a _penis_ in his mouth, he’s just swallowed Harry’s come with his own covering his hand, he’s just _enjoyed_ giving Harry head, and that’s honestly terrifying.

“That was amazing,” Harry whispers, still stroking Louis’ cheek. He’s willing himself not to cry, because it was amazing and Louis is not gay, Louis is not in love with Harry, nor any other man. “Look so beautiful with your mouth all full.”

That does it. Tears prick his eyes and Louis can feel them slipping down his cheeks rapidly, sticking his eyelashes together. He can feel Harry frowning at him, both thumbs now wiping at his tears, cupping his jaw. It feels nice, that makes it worse.

“Lou, are you–” Harry begins, but Louis stops him, shaking his head out of Harry’s grip and glaring at the ground.

“Don’t,” He grits out.

Harry’s hand tentatively moves to Louis’ hair, pushing through the slightly damp locks and holding the back of his head. It’s something they’ve always done, right back to the third night of judges houses when Harry got home sick and Louis didn’t have any idea how to comfort someone. He just held the back of his head, the warmth and weight calming the both of them down, so much that they almost fell asleep. “I just want to help, love.”

“I don’t want your help,” Louis mumbles, but it’s a lie. Louis wants Harry to pull him up on the bed and cuddle him tight and kiss away his troubles, but that’s exactly the problem.

“Louis please, I can’t– I hate seeing you like this. You’re too pretty to be upset,” his fingers are scratching through Louis’ scalp and it’s comforting and nice, and that makes it worse. A sob escapes his lips, loud and uncontrolled, and that’s about the point where Louis completely loses it, sobbing loudly into his hands, tears dripping into his palms.

Harry’s hand drops when Louis moves, sliding out of his hair, and when he tries to push it back, Louis shrugs him off, “Please, just don’t,”

“I –”

“Maybe it would be better if you just left,” he gasps out between sobs. Louis’ shoulders are shaking with the force, his cries ripping through his body to the core, shattering his heart in the process. Harry, like the saint he is, doesn’t even question it, just nods and pulls his clothes back up.

“Where’s your room key?” He asks softly. God, Louis forgot this wasn’t even his room, he’s basically kicking Harry out of his room, and Harry is _letting_ him. What even is this boy? Louis doesn’t change his mind, just reaches into his pocket and takes out the slightly damp plastic card, handing it over.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, though Louis isn’t entirely sure Harry hears.

Harry presses a kiss to Louis’ hair, before standing up and manoeuvring himself out of the room, “You know where I am if you need me.”

God, Harry is a _saint_. Louis may have just pushed away the one person who would’ve loved him unconditionally, forever and always. He isn’t sure how to feel about that.

The next day, Louis calls Eleanor and suggests they move in together. He likes to at least pretend it’s because he wants to.

***

“Chelsea, Chelsea!” Niall chants as soon as Louis opens the door to the flat. It’s the break between the European and American leg of their tour, and honestly Louis has never been more grateful to be back home.

He saw his family last week, stayed up for as long as possible purely because he couldn’t bear seeing Harry for a second longer than he had to, but then he remembered he was supposed to be moving in with Eleanor and, well, he came home early. Louis hasn’t been back to his old flat since they got home, simply living out his suitcase in Eleanor’s dingy student flat she’s renting for the summer, and waking up at five a.m. every morning when she gets up to go to work. It doesn’t bother him, though, Louis is more than happy to be left alone throughout the day, allows him to mope in peace. Not that he really is moping, however, not like he’s lost anything. He doesn’t even miss Harry, not one bit.

Okay, maybe he does a little bit. Harry cooks him dinner and makes him tea and does the washing up and makes sure Louis doesn’t burn the house down. Eleanor doesn’t do any of that, just goes to work at stupid o’clock and doesn’t come home until after dinner. Louis has been living off Coronation Chicken sandwiches for a week– going to the loo is not the prettiest sight at the moment.

“Sure, do come in, boys,” Louis sighs as both Niall and Liam push past him into the flat, Niall heading straight for the kitchen. They’re supposed to be having a boys night, watching the football game together and getting drunk, but Zayn wanted to stay at his mum’s a bit longer, and Harry wasn’t exactly invited. None of them support either of the teams that are playing (Chelsea vs Arsenal, ew) but Louis is lonely and the boys do whatever he says. Sometimes he likes to abuse his power.

“Niall, I’m not being funny, mate, but you look like a smurf,” Liam says, grinning at the blond man, who somehow managed to cover himself completely in blue body paint. Louis doesn’t know how he gets away with it.

“Oi, that’s offensive!” Niall replies from the kitchen, where he’s probably raiding Eleanor’s fridge for booze. Louis doesn’t blame him, he’s been drinking since half ten. “Can’t an Irishman support their football team in peace nowadays? What is this world coming to?”

“You don’t even support Chelsea, Niall,” Louis points out, following Liam into the kitchen.

Niall gasps loudly, “How dare you!”

“Alright then, name one Chelsea player,” Liam grins cheekily, laughing a little when Niall’s face pales slightly. Louis’ stomach gives an uneasy twinge, their banter reminding him a little too much of him and Harry’s.

“Conor Clifford!” Niall says triumphantly, but Liam just laughs.

“Nah, he got bought last year by Leicester didn't he?”

Niall shrugs with a small smile on his face and six bottles in his hands. “Never said they had to be playing for them now,”

“You know what I meant,” Liam rolls his eyes and takes some beers from Niall, nodding towards the living room, “Shall we go sit down then?”

They all move to the lounge, waiting for the game to start, and Louis is secretly glad Niall and Liam are willing to talk enough for him. He doesn’t really feel like conversing at the moment. But that’s got nothing to do with Harry, nope, not even a little.

Okay, maybe a little. Louis can’t help but think that if Harry were here, he’d be so engaged in the conversation, even though he most likely has no interest in whatever Niall and Liam are banging on about. He’d be all big hands and bright eyes, such a look of innocence and wonder, Louis would probably want to kiss him. In a friendly way, obviously, like he used to.

Louis can’t deny that he misses being friends with Harry, he’s just such a kind and genuine person, honestly the nicest person in the world. Louis kind of admires him actually, to be quite honest. Despite all the shit he’s gone through, Harry has never said a bad word about anyone – publicly or at home – and he always scolds Louis when he slags someone off, even if it's someone as terrible as David Cameron. Okay, so it’s nice to have a proper bitch session every once in a while, but in general, Louis does wish he was more like Harry. Wishes he could keep his mouth shut to avoid getting into trouble. And that he could think before he acts. And probably also stop being so rude and sarcastic to the press, because (as Harry constantly reminds him) they _are_ only doing their jobs, after all.

“Thinking about Harry?” A chirpy, almost smug, Irish voice snaps Louis out of his thoughts, brow creasing. Liam seems to have disappeared, but so has his beer, so he’s probably on the phone to someone.

“What?” Louis widens his eyes, but. He can’t even bring himself to deny it.

“It’s alright, I know you are,” Niall grins, reaching forward to pinch Louis’ cheek with a blue hand. “Got your Harry face on.”

“Oi! I do not have a Harry face!” Louis protests, but the more he thinks about it, the more he thinks he probably does. He’s seen a few things online, saying how he looks at Harry in a special way, but it’s because Louis admires him so much, wants to soak up all the Harry-happiness. The Harryness. _What the fuck_.

“Sure mate, whatever,” Niall bumps his shoulder before saying thoughtfully, “Have you spoken to him since the start of break?”

Louis flicks his eyes up to Niall’s contemplative face, offering up a cautious, “No.”

“Ah, that explains a lot,” he mumbles lowly, taking another swig of beer. Louis sips his warily as well.

“What does that mean?”

Niall shrugs.

“Niall,” Louis sighs.

“You’re just both so glum, ever since the end of tour,” Niall finally says. “Actually now that I think about it, you’ve pretty much been out of it since May, but it’s been worse since–”

“I’m not glum!” Louis huffs, interrupting Niall’s odd rambling. That boy sure does love to talk, not that anyone would _ever_ know.

Niall holds his hands up in defence. “Alright, whatever you say, man. We all know you fancy the pants off him, but whatever you want to believe.”

Louis just. He loses it. He was in the middle of drinking away his stress once again, but this time actually _chokes_ on it, has to thump his chest a few times to calm down. Because, _what_? Louis can’t believe that Niall, of all people, reckons he has a crush on Harry. That’s just– it’s absurd, is what it is. Louis does not fancy Harry, no way, he can’t even stand to be in the same room as him at the moment, let alone be attracted to him. To be fair to Niall, they have slept together twice, but that wasn’t Louis’ fault, he was stressed and overwhelmed with emotion, just got caught in the heat of the moment. So basically no, Louis does not _fancy the pants off him_ , not even a little.

“Shut up,” He finally says, when he’s calmed down slightly and collected his thoughts a little better. “I don’t fancy him. I have a girlfriend.”

“Sorry, sorry, of course you’re right, you don’t fancy him.” Niall says, raising his eyebrows. Louis relaxes slightly. “You’re totally in love with him.”

Louis almost throttles him.

“Niall, I am not in love with Harry. I have a girlfriend, we are happy together. I’m not even gay, okay! Mate, I don’t know where you’re getting these crazy ideas from, but maybe you should get that checked out if you’re having hallucinations.” Louis makes sure to enunciate every word, thinking that maybe talking slower and louder would get it into Niall’s head that _Louis is not in love with Harry._

It doesn’t work, Niall just laughs in his face, and rests a hand on his shoulder. “Right Lou, so all those longing looks – practically heart eyes, if you ask me – all those boners, and sex hair, that’s all my imagination, is it?”

_Sex hair,_ Niall is gross, Louis’ never had sex hair because of Harry. Not that one night when they did it in his hotel room, or that one night when they did it in Harry’s hotel room. Niall is making it up. “Yes. Yes you are.”

“Right,” he says again, laughing. “Honestly, go to your flat tomorrow, talk to Harry. If you still don’t feel anything then I’ll eat my words,”

“It’s not my flat anymore, Niall,” Louis grumbles.

“Maybe not, but it’ll always be your home, no matter which bimbo you try to move in with.”

Louis frowns and punches Niall in the calf, “Oi, that’s my girlfriend you’re talking about there!”

“Right,” Liam – who has apparently finished his phone call and re-joined them – snorts, startling the life out of Louis, “Girlfriend. That’s what she is.”

“Shut up, both of you. Is the game about to start yet?” Louis grumbles, sinking back into the chair. He doesn’t feel much like watching football any more, not with his _traitor_ friends, and it seems all he manages to do for the entire time is think about Harry, all pretty and perfect, and how much Louis definitely isn’t in love with him, but kind of also really misses him.

***

Louis knocks on the door to Harry’s flat. It feels weird calling it that, considering it’s only been two weeks since Louis moved out, but he moved out, so it’s officially not his flat anymore. He lives with Eleanor and her roommate in a dingy student flat which is basically in Croydon, and no one can convince him otherwise.

Louis doesn’t even know why he’s here. He can’t very well go and blame it on what Niall said to him yesterday, because honestly, since when has Louis ever listened to anything anyone has ever said, ever? Maybe he can tell himself that if he does this everyone will be proved wrong because Louis is definitely not in love with Harry. Truthfully, though, it’s probably because he really just misses his best friend. He hasn’t properly seen him in about three weeks, and the last time they spoke to each other, Louis ended up on his knees. Yes, Louis just misses his best friend. Maybe he didn’t exactly realise it until he was climbing the stairs in the old stately home in which they both used to share a flat, but it’s got to be the reason he’s here. There’s no other explanation.

He’s sort of– well, Louis’ nervous, not that he knows why. Harry and he have never gone this long without talking to each other before, and maybe he’s a little bit apprehensive that Harry isn’t quite as not okay with this as Louis is. What if Harry doesn’t even care, what if he doesn’t even miss Louis?

The door opens. Harry definitely cares.

His eyes are dark and sunken, indicating he’s probably had about as little sleep as Louis has had. His skin is even paler than usual, his lips are cracked and dry, and he looks like a mess. But for some reason it feels like Louis is seeing him for the first time. All these blemishes and imperfections Harry is showing and Louis doesn’t even care because he rocks every single one of them, even the greasy hair. Harry is beautiful, Louis doesn’t know how he never noticed before.

“Louis,” Harry breathes, as though he’s completely surprised to see Louis there. Honestly, Louis is surprised he’s here too. But now he’s here, the only thing he wants to do is kiss Harry until they’re both blue in the face, wants to touch every inch of his body, and make hot, steamy love to this special boy.

What he does instead, is burst into tears and collapse in Harry’s arms.

“I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry H,” He sobs, feeling Harry’s hands pat his hair and rub his back. “I’ve been such a dick to you, I feel awful, please forgive me.”

Harry pulls them both inside their home, kisses Louis’ hair, and holds him tightly as the older man sobs into his t-shirt. “Louis, you’ve got nothing to be sorry for, alright? I understand.”

“I’m an arsehole, I’m so, so sorry,” Louis continues, “I wouldn’t blame you if you never spoke to me again,”

“That’s ridiculous, Lou. You’re so lovely, why would I never speak to you again?”

“Please forgive me Harry, _please_ , I just want us to be okay,” He cries. Louis can’t believe what he’s done to this boy, to this friendship. He’s completely wrecked it just because he couldn’t handle how his best mate felt for him. He just wants everything to be okay again.

“Shh, it’s alright, it’s okay, we’re okay, I promise.” Harry shushes, attempting to calm Louis down, and it seems to work, to an extent.

Louis sighs and nods in the crook of Harry’s neck. “Thank you, I’m sorry. I love you.”

“You…What?”

Louis freezes. Did he– did he just tell Harry he loves him? That’s. Well. That’s new. But to be perfectly honest, Louis is tired and slightly emotional, and he really can’t be bothered to pretend that he’s not in love with Harry, anymore. Not that he always knew he was pretending, Louis has pretty much only just figured it out for himself, but now that he looks back on the three years he’s known this special boy, it’s hard to pinpoint a time he wasn’t completely enamoured by him. Has probably loved Harry from the word “oops”. That’s cheesy. Louis is going to have to remember that one for later.

Ever so slowly, mainly because he’s not sure of Harry’s reaction to his little confession, Louis lifts his head from it’s warm spot in Harry’s neck. He smiles gently at the little frown on Harry’s face – it’s extra beautiful – and reaches up to stroke a thumb along his pale cheek. “I’m in love with you, Harry Styles,”

Neither of them is quite sure who kissed who first, but that’s not important. What’s important is that Louis loves Harry, Harry loves Louis, and Niall definitely doesn’t need to see a doctor about crazy hallucinations.

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to my betas for getting me through this I love you all so much <3
> 
> Also thanks to Maya and Emelia for organising the exchange, it was a lot of fun!
> 
> Please leave kudos//comments//love and happiness (: (: xox


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